Skive
Skive is, with out a doubt, the ugliest yet classiest psyker alive. Stats WS: 30 BS: 31 S: 30 T: 30 Ag: 30 Int: 40 Per: 40 WP: 70 Fel: 30 Wounds: 12 Fate Points: 3 Insanity Points: 9 Corruption Points: 0 Thrones: 54 Name: Skive Homeworld: Void Born Career: Imperial Psyker Gender: Male Build: Gaunt Skin Color: Fair Hair Color: Auburn Eye Color: Black Age: 53 Quirk: You have unusually elegant hands. Ship Tradition: Orbital Divination: Die if you must, but not with your spirit broken. Experience & Advancements Gained EXP: 6300 Psy-Rating (4): 1600 WP (Simple, Intermediate, Trained, Expert): 1600 Int (Simple, Intermediate): 350 Per (Simple, Intermediate): 350 Melee Weapon Training (Shock): 250 Mind Over Matter: 100 Precision TK: 100 Delude: 100 Telekinetic Shield: 200 Force Storm: 350 Sound Constitution: 250 Orthoproxy: 250 Quick Draw: 250 Mind Probe: 200 Psychic Scream: 300 Spent EXP: 6250 Traits/Talents/Skills/Flaws Traits: Charmed, Ill-Omened, Shipwise, Void Accustomed, Sanctioned Psyker, Psy-Rating 7 Skills: Awareness, Psyniscience, Forbidden Lore (Psykers), Deceive, Dodge, Speak Language (Ship Dialect) (Int), Speak Language (Low Gothic) (Int), Psyniscience (Per), Invocation (WP), Literacy (Int), Trade (Merchant) (Fel), Navigation (Stellar) (Int) (Shipwise), Pilot (Starcraft) (Ag) (Shipwise) Talents: Jaded, 500 EXP worth of Psychic Powers (Compel, Thought Sending, Force Bolt), Weapon Training (Primary), Weapon Training (Las), Warp Sense Gear Gear: staff, knife (psykana mercy blade), quilted vest, Psy-Focus, sanctioning brand, sword, book of Imperial saints, compact las pistol and 1 charge pack, aquilia pendent (memento), fossil xeno bone (memento), ELC, Best Carapace Helm, White dress pants, a purple vest, a white dress shirt, a gold monocle, a deep purple overcoat, and a really fucking (Good Quality) ornate cane (shock), Best Quality Lucius Hell Pistol, Long Ass Background Born on the space orbital Emperor’s Bastion IV above the planet Hormatus, Skive grew up rather nicely. His hab, where he lived with his mother, father, and two sisters Jezail and Spike. Her name wasn’t really Spike, but that’s what everyone called her. Skive’s mother and father were both of the upper class on the orbital, and their three children were given the best in schooling. They were well liked, and had a good standing with the Orbital Overseer. However, one thing that most did not know was that Skive’s mother, father, and one of his sisters, Jezail, were psykers. They lived hiding this fact from everyone except for their closest friends. When Skive was 8, the orbital was inspected for taint and heresy by an on-planet arbites task force supported by an inquisitor and his retinue. Skive’s mother had procured a few doses of mild psyk-out, to hide their psychic abilities. However, Skive, being a rebellious eight year old, did not understand the importance of this drug, and only pretended to swallow it. He spat it out later into the sink. When the inspection came, the arbites team stopped at Skive. One of the arbites radioed someone on his commbead, and within 10 minutes the inquisitor had arrived. Skive did not understand the shit he was in. The inquisitor looked him up and down. “Boy, do you know what you are?” Skive shook his head. “Surely, you must know that you are an abomination in front of the Emperor.” Skive looked shocked. “You’re the Emperor?” He said, amazed. The inquisitor looked down at him with contempt. He shook his head. “What is your name?” The inquisitor crossed his arms. “My name is Skive, oh Emperor.” Skive replied, still amazed. The inquisitor slapped his hand to his forehead. “Skive, my name is Inquisitor Zarkov, of the Holy Ordo Hereticus. I’m here to root out... things like you. Psykers, heretics, mutants.” The rosette on his chest shined in the glowlamp light. “So... you’re not the Emperor.” Skive looked a little confused. Zarkov’s face turned red, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets. “Of course I’m not the frakking Emperor!” He raged. Skive’s mother, Zee, started to weep. Zarkov turned his hateful gaze to her wet eyes. “You. Are you this boy’s mother?” Zee nodded. “Do you know what he is, woman?” She hesitantly nodded again. “How long? How long have you known, and not told anyone?” His eyes bulged further, and his face got redder. “F-five years, sir...” She tripped over her words in front of a man of such power. “Five... Five years!? Why, in the Emperor’s name, WHY have you not told anyone this!?” Zarkov was practically inside her face he was standing so close, trembling with rage. A defiant voice to his right spoke up. “Because he’s not an abomination. He’s one of us.” The inquisitor froze, and slowly turned his head to the speaker. The voice came from Castus, Skive’s father. The inquisitor’s mouth hardly moved as he spoke. “So... Psykers... All of you...” Zee spoke up again. “N-not all of us, sir. Spike is... normal.” Zarkov stepped back. He nodded. “Right,” He motioned at the arbites, “take them away.” For three months, Skive, Castus, Zee, and Jezail were treated like grox aboard the Black Ship. For three months, each of them begged to return home. For three months, each of them begged for sweet relief. None of their prayers were answered. The journey was scheduled to last 5 months, and on the third day of the fourth month, something happened. The crew was not notified, but the men and women on the bridge were alerted to a breach in the gellar field in psyker storage bay 7, where Skive and his family were being held. The day was an ordinary day when Skive awoke. He was hungry, dirty, and unhappy. The savant tossed food into his family’s cell, and Zee separated it up into equal amounts. After finishing his portion of the daily mean, Skive sat back into the wall where he was chained and tried to fall asleep. After a moment, he was awoken by an almost imperceptible rumble in the wall. He sat up. “Can anyone else feel that?” The other three shook their heads. “No, really, the wall is rumbling!” “Skive, the wall isn’t rumbling any more than it noramly does,” His mother consoled. “I’m not kidding, mother!” Skive continued. The rumbling grew stronger. Castus spoke up. “I think he’s right, Zee. I can feel it too. Jezail, can you feel it?” Jezail did not answer. She stared at the ceiling. It took them a moment to realize that her eyes had rolled back into her head. “Oh Emperor...” Zee whispered. Jezail looked straight at her with inhuman speed. “The ‘Emporar’ cannot save you now, woman.” Jezail’s voice had a strange double quality to it, like something deep and menacing was speaking through her. Zee screamed, and Castus tried to get to his feet, but was chained down by his shackles. Skive scooted back into his corner and curled into a ball. Savants and storm troopers thundered down the hall to their cell. The door was held shut by something on the inside. They could hear screaming, and other far more foul happenings on the other side of the door. Jezail stood with lightning speed, snappping her chains like paper. She laughed, and it was terrifying. Zee continued to scream. The collars around their necks stopped burning, and Castus could feel his power returning. He stood, forcing the chains to weaken with his mind. “Jezail! Jezail!” He shouted. Skive curled and cowered more into the corner. Jezail slowly walked closer to her mother and father. She reached Zee first. “Oh mother... you got us in to this mess, mother... you had to be a psyker, mother... you had to live, mother...” Her voice sounded like pure malice seeped out between her teeth. Zee shook her head violently and shouted “No! No!” Jezail took another step closer, and started to glow with a deep red light. The cell shook violently, and Zee was lifted into the air thrashing and screaming. Castus broke his chains. “No! Zee, no!” He shouted, bringing all of his psychic energy into his hands as he ran forward. Jezail turned her head and smiled, revealing sharpened, bloody teeth. Jezail waved her hand in Castus’ direction, and he was thrown into the air, slamming into the cell wall with an audible crack! before sliding down into a broken heap. This was when Skive decided he had had enough of this shit. He stood, and wiped the tears from his face. “Jezail! Put mother down, now!” Jezail turned to Skive and tried to do the same thing to him as she had done to Castus, but it failed. Jezail frowned, and looked back at Zee. The older psyker had righted herself in the air, eyes glowing bright gold and blue. “You... are not... my daughter!” Zee extended her limbs as far as she could, and overloaded on the power of the warp, exploding in an extremely bright, almost blinding gold light. When Skive regained his feet, he noticed two things. One, his mother and Jezail were gone. Two, there was a transparent shape standing in front of him, tall and menacing. “Skive...” It said, reaching towards his head. “You must not... you cannot...” It continued. Skive recoiled away, and thought ‘Go away! Go away!’ over and over again. “You must not... you shall not...” Skive felt the thing reach into his mind. He slipped and fell backwards, slowly losing consciousness. Everything seemed much different when Skive awoke. First of all, his vision seemed clouded and askew, for some reason. Second, he found he couldn’t think straight. Third, he noticed he wasn’t in his cell anymore, and that he was in nice clothes for once. He tried to sit up, but was held down by straps around his arms, waist, head, and legs. “Hello!?” he called. He couldn’t look around to see if anyone was there. A tech priest in white robes appeared, leaning over him. “Subject S-541, you have been subjected to most unnatural occurrences. By all means, you should be dead. Your mind has been rewired, locked in places. It is a wonder you can still speak at all. How you and your father were spared is beyond me.” It’s voice was cold and mechanical, but it still had some humanity left. “We could not find the other two. I am sorry.” “Where am I?” Skive asked. His voice sounded different than it had before. A second person appeared, this one a man with a wide mustache, and happy eyes. “Why, you’re on holy Terra, my boy! You’re a psyker, you know! You know what we do with psykers, right? Correct, we put them in front of the Emperor to test their worth!” Skive noted in his mind that he had not said anything. “Now, we’ll take you and your father to go see the Emperor soon. First, we’ll have to get you prepared!” Over the coming years, Skive and Castus were subject to medical tests, physical and mental examinations, and rigorous studying and training. When they were eventually allowed to see the Emperor, they were both at breaking point. Skive had been well medicated the whole way through, and did not know of what his mind had in store. Skive did not remember much from his short time with the Emperor. He did recall that he was awake the entire time, and that his father’s eyes had burned out of his skull. However, Skive’s own eyes had remained. This puzzled him. Was he better than his father? Or was his father more worthy than him? After they had visited the emperor, Castus was taken away to a place called the Bastion Psykana somewhere far away from Terra. Skive was kept on Terra for another year, until he was 23, when he was shipped off to be a battle psyker with the Saracean 11th. He remained with them for a year, never once taking part in a battle for they were on rotation off the front. For a year, he lived normally, casually practicing his psychic art while constantly medicated by his Vizier. His time with the Saracean 11th came to an end when Inquisitor Zarkov came calling. Zarkov shanghai’d Skive into service, leaving his vizier behind. Skive served under Zarkov for 29 years, serving faithfully and effectively. However, the medication that had built up in his system was failing, and soon he was blacking out for weeks at a time, with no knowledge of where he had been and what he had done. On the day after the celebration of his 29th year of service, Zarkov had had enough. He casually ordered a squad of storm troopers to assassinate Skive in his sleep. In the night, they kicked in his door to find Skive awake and very alert. Skive screamed as they started firing. As a gut reaction, Skive pulled the group into his hab. He desperately sent bolt after bolt of psychic energy into their prone bodies, and soon he stood in a room with corpses lining the floor. In a panic, Skive packed his things and escaped into the night. He laid low for a few weeks, sleeping in gutters and hiding in alleyways, resorting to thievery to survive. At last, his chance of freedom emerged. A ship referred to as the 'Pilgrim’ was leaving orbit that day, and Skive managed to get himself a place on board. He smuggled himself into the econo-passage area, and acted the part, wearing a face mask. When the Pilgrim was attacked by pirates, Skive found himself press-ganged once more into inquisitorial service. Category:Characters for 40k